


Scars

by vslayer999



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-27 19:50:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12088152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vslayer999/pseuds/vslayer999
Summary: How I see Sansa and Arya's reunion would have gone if the writers didn't half rush everything and jam plotlines together in a messy tangle of bad characterization.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Sansa walked out into the cold night, immediately greeted by relentless winds. Her cloak kept the wind from cutting into her skin like it did on her exposed face as her hood wasn’t doing much to keep her cheeks and nose from becoming rosy. Sansa’s accustomed to the weather, though, she despised the cold as a child. Now, she welcomed it like a warm cozy blanket. She was a Stark, after all.

One of her guardsmen alerted her that Arya was out roaming around castle grounds in the middle of the night, to which Sansa firmly replied that all the Starks were free to do as they please in their own castle. When he left to go back to his post, she grew curious and as sleep was not finding her easy that night, Sansa decided to check up on her younger sibling.

Once Sansa arrived in the courtyard, she wasn’t surprised to see Arya standing with her back to her, her cloak had been eagerly discarded in the snow next to their boots. Her back was wound tight as her right arm held the bow delicately, but firmly. The moonlight bathed her in such a way that Arya could have been mistaken for a young Ned Stark, or at least what Sansa imagined her father looked like as a young man. Arya didn’t possess his stature, thankfully so, she was a pretty woman - though delicatess had never been her sister's strong suit.

Sansa scanned the otherwise deserted courtyard with heavy eye lids, It was extremely late, she thought, but sleep was far from her thoughts and it was clear her sister had the same affliction tonight. Sansa had too many unanswered questions running through her mind - she wanted to know where Arya had been all those years, how she escaped King’s Landing after their father’s beheading, who she met and who she has become. No doubt her adventures would be no dull tale, knowing her sister had a knack for befriending anyone she met.

When she found Arya at their father’s tomb she hadn’t felt like reminiscing about the last six years. Confiding in her sister would make everything that happened much more real. In truth, Sansa was scared to tell Arya for fear of what she would think of her, yet she imagined Arya’s reticence to delve into details of her own adventures were for similar reasons. They might be different, like the sun and the moon her father had said, but they were both Starks, that was true.

 _Face, tits, balls,_  Arya thought to herself with a smirk. She felt her sister’s gaze on her, yet she continued shooting arrow after arrow, hitting the unmoving target exactly where she wanted it. No doubt one of the three guardsmen that had been watching Arya put holes in the target for nearly an hour had alerted Lady Stark.  _Bunch of twits. I hope they didn’t wake her just for this._  Arya wouldn’t make this admission out loud but Sansa was always in the foulest of moods when woken at odd hours in the night.

Sansa approached Arya, standing just a few feet away from her, both hands clasped in front of her. She smiled at her younger sibling fondly, “the years haven’t made you more of a lady, I see.” Arya looked like she hadn’t had a decent meal in ages, another unsurprising revelation. The ride from the Crossroads Inn to King’s landing was a long one, and Sansa wasn’t sure where Arya had come from before that, but she could guess her sister had been traveling for quite some time.

Arya took her eyes off of her target for a moment as she scoffed at her sister, and kept her gaze on Sansa's deep blue eyes as she released the bowstring. She didn’t need to know to turn around to see her arrow had been deeply impaled right in the middle of the target. “Do you truly believe they would have?”

Sansa rose a brow,  _show off_. “No, not truly.”

They both chuckled and fell into a comfortable silence as Arya went and placed the bow beside the target. She didn’t bother plucking the arrows from the target as she’d train again in the morrow. She hadn’t had the chance to train in archery in Braavos, though she didn’t miss it as much as she would have thought. Wielding a sharp blade had much more of a satisfying bite, she told herself as her hand grazed Needle’s handle before she settled it on top of its hilt.

The silence grew heavier with tension with each passing moment as both young Stak women had no clue where to start.

 _I haven’t seen her in years...should I tell her I murdered my ex-husband by letting his dogs eat him alive?_  Her eyes scanned Arya as she moved back towards her and noticed a slight waver in her sister’s step - small enough that she almost missed it.  _Has she been drinking?_  If Sansa found the answer to her question, she didn’t bring it up.

Wordlessly, Arya picked up her cloak and moved underneath the balcony where she had shot that arrow six years ago. Brann had been livid, he had ran after her for a good twenty minutes and they ended up in the kitchens, causing a ruckus. Arya smiled at the memory as she heard Sansa’s light steps in the snow behind her. She hung her cloak on the fence attached to the supporting pillars of the balcony.

Sansa's eyes never left her sister's form - she noticed the way her shoulders were wound her tight and she knew this time it wasn’t from drawing the bow string tightly.

“Sansa, I-”

“Arya-”

They both chuckled nervously, only to realize that this was going to go nowhere fast if neither of them would dare utter a word first.

It was the eldest of the two who took the first plunge, “you look well,” Sansa finally said, softly. She examined her sister’s familiar face when she turned around, her features had hardened considerably but the little girl she grew up with was still there, hiding behind tired eyes and a marksman’s draw. She loved the way Arya fixed her hair the same way their father did and wore similar clothes. 

Arya smiled back as she lifted herself up on the fence and sat on the sturdy wood beneath. “And you look like a Lady,” Arya nodded, “I would have done the same too, if I were Jon, choosing you to lead.”

If her cheeks hadn’t been red from the cold wind, they would have heated up at her sister’s thoughtful comment. Nonetheless, she was quick to retort: “I never thought I’d live long enough to hear you compliment me.” She grinned when Arya rolled her eyes at her obvious deflection.

Sansa leaned her back against the fence, her elbow brushed her sister’s side but neither moved. The pair hadn’t been known for their loving and affectionate relationship, they had been at odds for most of their childhoods, but this felt comfortable. Sansa has growing suspicions that the ale or wine Arya had obviously been drinking helped the matter. Her inquiries were answered when she had spotted the empty mug and jug that sat in the snow next to Arya’s swaying feet.

“I’m sorry,” Arya said as she stared up at the dark sky - the moon’s light reflected on the clouds and illuminated the courtyard far more than starry nights ever did. It was beautiful and she wished her father would be here to watch the night sky with them. The air was cold but Arya felt like she could finally breathe for the first time since they left Winterfell to live in King’s Landing.

 _Did you drink all of the Castle’s ale?_  Sansa wanted to jest, but she noticed that Arya had serious look about her. She was ready to talk. “What for?” She asked instead, urging her to continue.

“For Lady, for father...for leaving you with the Lannisters.” In truth, a child could not be guilted with such things, but Arya felt she had a part of the blame for her sister’s misfortune.

“Don’t be absurd Arya, none of it was your fault.”

The younger girl frowned and turned to her sister forgiving face, “but I could have done something about it.”

“And what was a girl of your age to do about it? About  _any_  of it?” Sansa passed on this sentiment towards herself and her choices over the years. She figured finding who truly was to blame to be useless - they’ve all suffered immensely, why should it have to continue?

Arya sighed deeply and turned back to the dark gray sky. “Something,  _anything_.”

Even if Sansa would keep telling her the fault wasn’t hers, Arya was as stubborn as she was. She understood her sister’s sentiment exactly, however, “I did  _nothing_ , for a long while. I did as I was told and never questioned any of it, but I survived. I did what I needed to in order to live, even if at times that meant doing  _nothing_.”

“Boring life you’ve must’ve had,” Arya lightened the mood and wondered how her sister could laugh and roll her eyes at the same time, evoking two different sentiments. Arya bent down to fetch her mug, holding herself on the support beam as to not fall face first in the snow. She drank from her mug hungrily and wiped her mouth with the back of her hands when she was done.

Sansa shook her head and chuckled, she couldn't fathom know how her sister was able to enjoy ale’s bitter taste at all. She watched Arya offer her a sip, but she gallantly refused the offer with a raised hand.

Arya shrugged and leaned back slightly, tipping her head back as she completely finished her mug’s contents. “I’m glad you survived. I don’t know how you managed it, living with the enemy for so long. You’re stronger than I could ever be.”  _I would have killed all of them, or tried to and probably die in the process_. She chuckled and bent down again to pour herself another full cup.

“You seemed to have managed well enough on your own,” Sansa pointed out.

Arya shrugged it off, “I learned to fight, I learned to kill - though none of it felt real except for the revenge I wanted for father, and mother, and Robb, and Rickon.” Her words almost got caught in her throat - almost.

“Your list,” Sansa acknowledged gravely and wondered who would be on her list, and then decided her and Arya’s list would probably be greatly similar.

“Starks will not be made fools of any longer.”

Sansa smiled and nodded, before she had come back to Winterfell she would have thought that statement to be rose colored words knights spoke to their kings before a big battle. “I never felt like that was important, all I wanted was to be wed to a charming prince and become a queen of some other house. When Jon pushed me into this position I saw that this is what I was meant to be, where I was meant to be. Winterfell is our home, we took it back and we’re never letting anyone take it from us again.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Arya chuckled, swaying a little more than she would have wanted to show as she took another big gulp of the bitter, yet exquisitely cold and smooth liquid.

Sansa arched a brow, “I suppose you’ll drink to anything.”

“You suppose right.” Arya had never been the drinker and she wholeheartedly disliked wine’s dry taste. Sandor kept bringing up how he missed ale during their travels and chugged down jugs full when they were fortunate enough to stop at an Inn. At the time she didn’t understand what all the fuss was about, but when he poured Arya her first cup she couldn’t think of drinking anything else after long travels. Cold ale’s refreshing taste felt like jumping into a creek in the middle of the night - the day’s worries washed away along with the slight sting.

“Have some,” Arya finished her mug and offered it to her sister once more.

“No, Arya,” but Sansa pushed it away again, “it smells and probably tastes awful just as well.”

“You’ll get used to the taste,” the younger girl shrugged again as she stared down into her mug’s contents, her feet idly kicking the air. “And after three pints you hardly taste it,” Arya promised with a loopy grin. The alcohol easily made its way through her body and warmed her up enough that she didn’t remember why she had brought the thick cloak with her.

“Well that’s reassuring,” the eldest sibling replied, still unsure.

“You may be Lady Stark during the day, but tonight you’re my  _very_  annoying sister who I’ve missed  _very_  much.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “twice now.” She laughed at the confused face Arya made at her answer. “Twice now that you’ve complimented me,” she then explained with another chuckle and glanced down at her gloved hands.

Arya didn’t wait for a more definitive answer, she poured the cold ale into her mug and made a point of filling it to the brim before she thrust it into her sister’s hands. “Go on, it’ll warm you up.”

Sansa brought the cup to her lips while she glared at her sister and almost didn’t take a sip when Arya winked at her.  _Is it odd that I missed being annoyed at her?_  “Gods, it’s so bad,” Sansa’s faced scrunched up like she was in pain from taking the smallest sip of ale Arya had ever seen anyone take.

“Drink more then,” Arya pressed as she moved her gloved finger under her sister’s mug and urged her to take another gulp. She laughed when Sansa almost spilled some over herself. She kept her hands to herself after the glare that followed, and frankly, it was a good thing since her extremities were starting to feel numb. She settled on watching as Sansa took a bigger pull of the tasty ale all by herself and felt proud of herself when no disgusted face came.

 _Alright, so I may have slightly overreacted. It’s not so bad._  Sansa took another sip and found that it both quenched her thirst and also made her thirstier. She understood how men and women would easily fall for this trick and have trouble standing on their own after too many pints.

They continued drinking, passing their mug to one another and shared stories of their travels until the jug was nearly empty. They spoke of good times and downright awful ones, each getting angered they weren’t there to defend the other. Arya would have added Ramsey to her list if her sister hadn’t taken care of it herself. She proud of her sister, Sansa had grown so much over the years - the bratty little girl she once was was all but gone, well, for the most part.

Arya was reluctant to tell Sansa about her training at the house of Black and White, but Sansa was quite receptive and asked her a lot of questions. Some of Arya’s answers were met with heavy frowns and once Sansa pointed out she’d ask Petyr about this in the morrow, but Arya grew worried about the trust her sister put in this man. Though Sansa was the one who had spent the most time with him, one glance told Arya that man was up to no good - not now and not ever. She made a note to watch him closely.

Arya also told Sansa about what she had done in Riverrun, excluding the part about the Frey pies - perhaps she’d tell her tomorrow, or the day after, when they’ve had too much ale, again. “All we need is to hang a Stark banner,”  _I can’t wait to tell Jon._

“Why haven’t I heard of this news?”

“I guess they were all out of ravens,” Arya chuckled into her mug.

Sansa moved in front of Arya and placed both of her hands on the woman’s surprisingly taut shoulders. “Arya, we have the Riverlands now.”

Though Arya’s first goal was revenge, it also gave the Starks a great tactical advantage over their enemies in the South. “You should send men there, the Frey’s servant girls must have deserted by now.”

Sansa nodded, “I’ll send men to scout the area right away.”

“To house stark,” Arya raised her mug in the air.

“May our reign be long and just,” Sansa replied as she gently patted the side of Arya’s cheek as she watched her sister down yet another pint. “Pour me another, would you? I’ll be right back.” Sansa started towards one of the castle’s entrance, knowing where the nearest guardsmen were posted.

“If it pleases my Lady,”  Arya hopped down from the piece of wood she used as a bench and curtsied, badly.

“Stop calling me that,” Sansa called over her shoulder, a little louder than she would have had three pints ago.

Arya chuckled and swayed slightly as she poured the rest of the jug's contents into the mug she held. She smiled to herself as she took a deep breath of the cold air that was oddly calming. She decided this was one of the best night's she's had since her father had died.


	2. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the whole thing planned out so it should be about 6 chapter? I hope it will at least be better than what we got out of season 7.

“I’ve always wanted to be as good of a Marksman as you are,” Bran says as he watched his sister practice her long-range shots. it was mid-day and there was no sun in Winterfell, but the winds were soothing as they swept over the castle's walls.

“You have something better than a Marksman’s eye,” Arya replied thoughtfully, yet she still couldn’t fully understand the extent of his power.

“All gifts come with a price,” was Bran’s truthful answer.

A sad smile graced her lips as Arya nodded in understanding. _I paid my_ price, she thought as she sent another arrow flying at the unfortunate target it would hit in just a few seconds. She renounced her family, her heritage and her responsibilities for years - and it cost the people she loved the most. Her father always told her that a family should remain together and yet she did the exact opposite, just as he did for his friend Robert.

_In the winter we must protect ourselves, look after one another._

Arya would always blame herself for leaving them, for leaving Sansa, just like she’d always blame herself for Mycha’s death. Though that was years ago and so far in her memory that the young girl could have sworn all of it had happened in another life, in another place.

Bran broke Arya out of her thoughts as he asked: “Do you think you could hit that barrel?” He lifted a gloved finger and pointed at a wooden barrel about 60 yards from his position. The cask had probably been used to house wine but had since been discarded next to old broken broomsticks and empty grain bags. The winds had blown quite a bit of snow on top of it, but the familiar shape remained easily distinguishable even from that distance.

Arya trained her eyes on her new target before she drew the bow and let the arrow go quickly. It hit the barrel with swift force and plunged a few inches into its hollow carcass. She turned back to her brother, a smirk on her face, and was met with a similar one on his. “Even you knew that was way too easy.”

“Perhaps,” he chuckled and spotted a stack of hay bales used to feed the horses, though it was placed far away from the livestock. “Hay bales, over there,” he pointed at the object that was just about 100 feet away from Arya.

Bran watched as his sister rolled her shoulders, evaluated the distance for a moment as she slid the arrow against her thumb. She placed her right foot behind her, lifted both arms up in front of her and drew the bowstring as she did so. Not a second passed and the arrow was airborne and headed towards its intended target.

Once the arrow had reached its destination, Arya turned towards Bran with another smirk. The cold filled her lungs once more, and though she was sober this time, it felt just as great as the night she had spent outside admiring the night’s sky with her sister. They even got into a drunken snowball fight where even Arya had trouble hitting Sansa who had been just a few feet away from her. They had woken up with throbbing headaches but genuine smiles graced their faces throughout the whole day. “Is there anything else you wish me to poke holes through, brother?”

Bran noticed the looks they had been getting for the past few minutes, and though no one was willing to say anything he knew that the passerby and the guards weren’t exactly enjoying that arrows were flying around everywhere around people. Even if Arya was an incredible shot, there was always room for error. “I’m not certain that the guards are enjoying our little game.”

Arya shrugged in her usual nonchalant manner as she grabbed another arrow and readied herself once again. “They’re our guards as well, what are they going to do?”

He couldn’t come up with a single answer, so adopting his sister’s nonchalant attitude, Bran spotted the perfect target. “Sansa’s window shutter, up there. Third on the left.”

Arya had shaken her head from side to side slowly, knowing the string of curses that would be yelled at her soon enough, but she couldn’t resist the opportunity to irritate her sister. The window was at least 200 yards out from what she could tell and the winds were pretty horrid, for an arrow at least. She would still make the shot.

Bran noticed that this time Arya paused longer as she aimed, and it paid off in the end. He locked eyes with his sister when she turned around, almost amazed she made the shot herself, and for a moment they were both nervous as they waited, the suspense killing them - though not as literally as Sansa would.

“ARYA!” Sansa’s yell cut through the blowing winds and echoed around the castle’s courtyard.

The marksman dropped the bow and ran behind Bran, pushing his chair with all her might, though she didn’t possess the strength to lift him up the stairs, which caused them to be easily intercepted by the guardsmen.

Arya couldn’t remember the last time she heard Bran laugh so carefree, she decided she wanted to hear more of it - he deserved it after all.

* * *

Sansa walked through the grey walls of her family’s castle, and though the way was illuminated by candleglow, it didn’t make it any easier to travel through the numerous dark corridors. Petyr insisted on escorting her to her sister’s bedchambers, even if there was a guard posted in nearly every entryway. She barely paid mind to what he was saying, something about wanting the Veil Knights to travel south to King’s landing. She only addressed him to reply with a firm no and that they will instead travel to Riverrun along with a few of Winterfell’s guards and claim it for House Stark.

She was aware of his scheme, she could smell it from a mile away. The unsullied were on Cersei’s doorstep, and so was the rest of Daenerys’ army - one wrong step and it’s an all-out war. Petyr was always big on letting others fight his own wars and she wasn’t going to trick her into fighting his. She had no claim to the throne, not unless both Lannister twins would die and her marriage to the imp was somehow legitimized. Even then, she had no desire to sit on the Iron Throne -  her place was in Winterfell with her family.

Sansa stopped a few doors down to Arya’s room and turned towards Petyr, cutting him mid sentence. “Wait here,” she glanced at the guard who nodded at her as she continued down the corridor a few paces and entered her sister’s bedchamber without knocking. She closed the heavy wooden door behind her and turned around, her mouth almost hit the floor at what she saw. “Oh, Gods, what in the-”

Arya lay on her bed, on her stomach, the large fur blanket had been pushed down her to her ass and left her back completely bare. A woman, who Sansa guessed was not a noble born, sat on Arya’s ass and was massaging her sister’s back and shoulders.

“Why yes, you can come in Lady Stark,” Arya’s muffled voice was highly sarcastic, but relaxed.  

“You could have said something, Arya!” Sansa shrieked, shielding her eyes behind one hand.

"You could have knocked," Arya laughed.

“M’lady,” the woman greeted Sansa with an unabashed smile as she continued to work the pesky knots in Arya’s left shoulder blade.

“It’s for my sore muscles, from training,” Arya explained, and wondered why she needed to justify her actions at all. She couldn’t help a laugh escape her when she tried to make contact with Sansa’s eyes, but they wholeheartedly refused and instead, they frantically darted anywhere else but her own.

Arya had started getting massages for her sore muscles back in Braavos. There was no real practitioner of this heavily criticized form of medicine that she knew of, though she had heard of stories that would usually deter anyone away from it. Though Arya wasn't just anyone, and she had quickly realized that the only place where she could find someone who would at least consider doing this for her on a daily basis, was at a brothel. At first, her request was met with laughter but she dropped a bag of coin in one of the ‘workers’ lap and the rest was history.

This particular woman who had taken a comfortable seat on her backside, Nalia her name was, had done this for her since she arrived in Winterfell a fortnight ago. For the first time, her request wasn’t met with laughter, Nalia had acquiesced to her request without hesitation.

 _Being a lady isn’t so bad,_ Arya had thought with a grin. She hadn’t practiced archery in years and her left shoulder blade was killing her from shooting so many in a day, but Bran loved to watch her and she could always use more practice.

Nothing more had come from these encounters, but Sansa didn’t know that and the furious blush on her face was enough to make Arya decide to have a little fun with it. “And it helps me _relax_ ,” she closed her eyes as Nalia dug her fingers into the painfully tight knot in her shoulder blade and groaned a little louder than necessary.

Arya heard a chuckle and she knew Nalia had caught on - she may not have been born into a particularly wealthy family but she was a smart lady nonetheless.

“I really don’t think I need to know what ‘relaxes’ my sister,” Sansa replied, still slightly agitated. She wondered what it was like in Winterfell before Arya got here, and though the words peaceful and normal came to mind, though boring was not far behind.

“So, what is it then?”

“I need to speak with you,” Sansa’s frustrated sigh was met with a raised eyebrow and she wondered if Arya was doing this on purpose. She also really wished that Arya would stop making those sounds. All of this was highly inappropriate and she was running out of things to look at. “This is a private matter,” Sansa pressed on, her glare now firmly planted on Arya’s oddly relaxed frown.

“Of course, m’lady,” Nalia stood up and pulled the covers up to cover Arya’s back.

“Bran wants to speak with us,” Sansa’s eyes followed the woman until she was out of the room. She blew out a breath she didn’t know she was holding when the door closed behind them and then turned to her sister, who had begun dressing. Sansa caught a glimpse of the angry scars on Arya’s stomach before she turned away to give her some privacy. “He says it’s important.”

Sansa wasn’t aware, nor would she ask, what kind of relationship her sister had with this woman, yet it didn’t sit right with her. Perhaps because she felt the need to protect her younger sibling from anyone older than her, but then again she shouldn’t have been surprised that Arya would do something so unladylike.

Sansa wouldn’t admit this out loud, but her relationship with Lord Baelish could easily be viewed the same way, and it was - though she was far more wary of him now than the time she had spent with him in the Eryie. She would never let him manipulate her the way he did, his unwanted affection seemed useful only because he had power over the Knights of the Veil and Winterfell desperately needed allies.

At least that was what she let herself believe, for now.

Once Arya had dressed the pair made their way through the castle accompanied solely by the sound of their boots hitting the ground and the clinking of Arya’s sword holster. Sansa had only spoken to send Petyr away without giving him anything to suspect. He had departed with a courteous bow to them both, to which Arya replied with a scoff. It took a great deal of willpower for Sansa not to laugh at the look on his face before he turned and left.

The Stark sister’s shared a smile before they made their way outside and met up with Bran in the Godswood.

“Sisters, there is something I must share with you both.” He announced gravely, “Lord Baelish is an enemy to the House Stark.” He had seen the outcome of his betrayal for both past and present events and he knew that if he didn’t warn his siblings, Petyr would attempt to divide them.

Bran knew the kind of deal Lord Baelish had silently made with him as he gave him the catspaw dagger and he hadn't agreed to it. He had let his father get executed and Bran couldn’t find a sole reason to pardon this betrayal. His only hope is that his sisters would see eye to eye with him.

“What a surprise,” Arya threw in sarcastically.

Sansa, worried by what her brother had seen in his visions, asked him: “What do you mean?”

"That dagger I gave Arya is the dagger that was meant to assassinate me when I was sleeping after my fall. He told mother it belonged to Tyrion Lannister when it was his all along.”

"Petyr wanted you dead?" Arya asked with a frown, "why?"

"He didn't, but Kin Joffrey did at the time and Petyr gladly helped him do it." Bran turned his saddened gaze on his older siblings face. He could see the anguish she hid so well behind her eyes and it killed it to stare into it every single day. “But that’s not all he did, isn’t it?”

“He murdered our aunt and-and he sold me to an awful man who raped me every night I was with him,” Sansa’s voice shook as she let her eyes roam over to the tree’s blood red leaves - it was the first time she admitted it to them even though she was sure both Bran and Arya had already figured it out from what she had previously said. 

Sansa felt the leather of gloves brush against her cold hands and then slowly intertwined with her own. Sansa stared down at Arya, who kept looking at Brann though she wasn’t seeing him - all she was seeing was red. Sansa squeezed her sister's hand and she received a gentle one in return.

“He’s to blame for father’s execution,” Arya spoke, though she was mostly thinking out loud. Her mind had already killed him at least a hundred times by now. She couldn't wait to see his blood spill out in front of her and though the thought scared her, she couldn't worry about that right now.

The three of them remained silent for a long while, the siblings seething in mournful rage - some more than others.

Sansa broke their long silence, effectively bringing everyone back from their own inner turmoil. “Can we sentence a man to die without proof, with just words?” Would Jon’s supporters agree with them? Would the Veil still pledge to House Stark after Petyr is executed? Sansa was far more worried about the outcomes of this political kill, and yet a part of her was afraid to let him die. How would she feel? He had been her mentor for years, though her had betrayed her, and her family, numerous times. She knew what must be done, but she felt she wasn’t strong enough to carry it out alone.

“Whether we bring him to trial or not,” Bran turned his gaze to Sansa, “ultimately you will sentence him to death,” he moved his eyes onto Arya’s brown ones, “and Arya will kill him with the dagger with or without a trial.”

“Then it shall be done.” Sansa left them both without speaking another word.

Even if her brother and sister would help her carry out Petyr’s sentence, she felt she was all alone to feel the conflicting emotions she couldn’t quite describe. She had no qualms about letting Ramsey’s hounds eat him, and perhaps she should view Petyr’s execution the same way. He hurt her, beyond words, and had cause a world of grief to her family - if he let him live, she would still be the weak, naive young girl she once was.

Jon placed her in charge of Winterfell and that meant protecting her House from anyone would would wish or cause harm to her and her siblings. She needed to carry out this sentence not only for herself but for the North just as well.

_The Others take him wherever they may, he will harm the Starks no longer._

Her gift came with a price too.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
